Broken Pieces
by annonwrite
Summary: Stanford AU. Sam with panic attacks. Sequel to Puzzle Pieces
1. Chapter 1

Sometimes it starts in a dream. A nightmare. Always the same one. Jess.

Other times it starts when he's awake, with a thought. Almost any thought, really. Jess. Research papers. Demons. Jess. Clowns. Car accidents. Jess.

The thought turns to a tingle in his fingertips. An itch in the center of his chest he can't scratch. Beads of sweat form on his forehead and under his arms.

The thought grows. Jess on the ceiling. Murders on the nightly news. Global warming melting polar ice caps. Jess bleeding and burning. Failing final exams and losing his scholarship. Earthquakes that shatter buildings and homes and lives. Jess with her white nightgown, far too perfect for his fucked up life.

The tingle in his fingertips makes his hands shake. The itch in his chest becomes pressure. Pain. Blood rushes so hard and fast he can hear it. He's not getting enough air so he takes a shaky breath, but his chest locks up. Air won't come in. Air won't go out.

That's when it explodes_. Panic._

Jess bleeding and burning on the ceiling and there's nothing he can do to stop it. Flunking out of school no matter what he does, losing whatever hope he had for a normal life. Bad people and bad things in this world and not enough good. Dad's gone Dean's gone Jess is gone everyone's gone and he's alone alone alone. Jess dying burning scorching his lungs filling with smoke but all he can do is watch.

He can't breathe. His chest hurts, his heart hurts_. Jess._ He's trembling and sweating and his vision is going dark in spots and everything sounds far away. This heart attack is never going to stop. _Jess._ He's never going to breathe again. He's going to die. He wants to die.

_Jess. Jess. Jess…_

* * *

><p>Sam sleeps on the couch that night. He tells Jess it's because he doesn't want to keep her awake, but Dean knows better. It's because he doesn't want to sleep under the ceiling where he keeps seeing the girl he loves.<p>

So Jess sleeps in the king-size bed alone. Sam sleeps with his head on Dean's knee, his legs dangling over the arm of the couch, socked feet hitting the end table.

Dean doesn't sleep. Dean thinks. It's gotta be a coincidence. It's gotta be some memory that Sam's brain has kept locked up since he was 6 months old. Now that Sam's falling in love and stressing himself out over school and not sleeping enough, that suppressed memory isn't so suppressed anymore. That's all. That's gotta be it.

He thinks he should call Dad. Let him know what's going on. But panic attacks? He knows what the reaction would be.

"Tell Sam to rub some dirt in it. Get your ass back out here," John would say. Or maybe, "That's what he gets for leaving." Or maybe worst of all, "I don't fucking care."

No, Dean can't tell his dad. Taking care of Sam is on his shoulders. Nothing's changed.

Sam rolls from his side to his back, head pressed against Dean's hip. Worry creases Sam's forehead even in sleep. Dean smoothes the lines with one finger, wishing that was all it took to make things right.

A few minutes later, Sam moves again, arms and legs thrashing against the couch. Dean holds his breath. It's too soon. The sleepless night before, the long day at the hospital, Sam needs sleep. The last thing he needs is another nightmare.

But then Sam's moaning, "No, no, no," and his fists are clenched and there's sweat building on his hairline.

"Sammy," he whispers, one hand on his brother's shoulder. "Hey, Sammy. Wake up. It's okay."

Sam's muscles tighten and he lets out a cry that goes straight to Dean's heart.

"Hey." He squeezes Sam's shoulder. Hard. "Sam. Wake up. You're okay. Wake up."

Sam sits up so fast that it's like he's on a spring. He looks at the ceiling and clutches at his chest and cries out Jess's name with breath he doesn't have.

Dean turns on the lamp and crouches down in front of his brother. "Hey. Sammy. It's okay. It was a nightmare. You're fine." It's hard to say everything's okay while Sam is trembling and gasping and full of wide-eyed terror, but Dean forces himself to stay calm. He squeezes Sam's knees and draws his attention away from the ceiling. "Just breathe, Sammy. Hey. You're okay. It's okay."

Their eyes lock. Sam's shallow breaths don't slow now that he's awake. If anything, they get faster. The pain and fear is evident on his face. This isn't just a nightmare. This is a panic attack. Again. Already.

"Okay, kiddo." Dean circles Sam's wrist and feels his pulse jumping in his veins. "It's just a panic attack. You gotta slow your breathing. Calm down. Nice deep breaths."

"Hurts," Sam gasps.

"I know, dude. I know. Just breathe through it. Nice and slow."

Tonight is different than last night. Dean knows Sam is not having a heart attack. People don't die from panic attacks. Do they? Dean probably should have asked the doctor that. Because even though he knows what this is, it doesn't make it any less real and it doesn't make it any easier to watch.

Seconds pass. Minutes pass. It's not stopping. Dean's constant mantra of "It's okay, you're okay, just breathe," isn't doing a damn thing.

"Shit," Dean mutters. "Hey. Sammy. You want a pill? You want to take something to calm you down?"

Dean takes the lack of resistance as assent. He grabs the pharmacy bottle, surprised to see that his own hands are shaking slightly. He fishes out one of the tiny pills, puts it in his brother's mouth, and helps him take a sip of water.

"Good," Dean says. "That's good. It'll start working soon." Dean continues his soft litany of soothing words, alternating glances between his still-panicking brother and the clock.

After 20 minutes, Sam's breathing begins to slow. Tension drains from his muscles one at a time. Though he's still shaking, it seems to be from exhaustion rather than fear. Dean wraps fingers around Sam's wrist and lets out a sigh of relief when he finds it slow and smooth. He lets his forehead fall to his brother's knees, offering some kind of silent prayer, then takes his place on the couch.

"You okay?" Dean asks.

"Yeah." Sam breathes. "Nightmare."

Dean almost hates to ask. "Jess?"

"Yeah."

"We gotta find a way to make those stop, huh?"

"Nightmares? Or panic attacks?"

"Both."

Sam nods. "Doesn't feel like a nightmare, though."

"What?"

"Feels different. Feels like it's going to come true."

"It's not." It's a promise Dean isn't sure he can keep.

Sam's head falls to Dean's shoulder. "Right."

Dean wraps his fingers around Sam's wrist one more time. Cool skin. Normal pulse. "That drug's making you tired, huh? You should sleep."

"Can't sleep too long. There's this exam on Monday and I have a paper due and I need to…need to…" Sam trails off, his head growing heavy on Dean's shoulder.

Dean stays awake and listens to Sam breath, long and deep.

* * *

><p>"What are you doing?" Jess asks, voice thick with sleep.<p>

Dean freezes before throwing a few pairs of Sam's boxers in the duffle bag and closing the dresser drawer. He turns. Jess is sitting up in bed, hair a mess, a line from her pillow across her cheek. "Packing. I'm going to take Sammy for the weekend. Away from school and studying and stress. Might do him some good, don't you think?"

She frowns. "Where are you going to take him?"

Dean shrugs. He hasn't thought that far ahead yet. "Somewhere relaxing."

Jess pulls her knees up to her chest and runs her fingers through her hair. "How'd he sleep?"

"He had another panic attack. Around 3 this morning." Dean crosses to the partially open closet and takes a few of Sam's shirts off hangers, tossing them into the bag. "I had to give him one of the pills to get it to stop."

"Jeans are on the right hand side."

Dean tosses two pairs into the bag. "Thanks."

"Is he okay now?"

"For the moment. Still out of it from the drugs." Dean zips the duffle bag and slings it over one shoulder. He turns to Jessica. "I promised him we wouldn't leave until you were awake. He wants to say goodbye."

Jess nods, then tilts her head to the side. "You didn't sleep last night, did you?"

"I'm fine. It's him I'm worried about."

"You'll call me if anything comes up?"

"Absolutely. And you call me if anything..." Dean shifts the duffle bag to his other shoulder. "If you're worried. Or anything. Call."

Jess slides out of bed and smiles tightly at Dean as she walks out of the room. Dean follows her towards the kitchen and leans against the doorjamb. Sam is sitting at the table, cup of coffee – decaf – in his hands. "Hey, baby," Jess says gently, kissing Sam and rubbing at the stubble on his chin. "You had a bad night?"

"I'm okay."

"Keep it that way, all right? Dean says you're going to take a trip for the weekend?"

"Might help."

Jess smoothes Sam's shirt sleeve where it had been folded up at the hem. "I hope it does. I'll miss you, baby. Call me, okay? Anytime."

"I will."

Jess kisses Sam again, lips, forehead, cheek. He stands and wraps her in a hug.

"You two behave, okay?" Jess asks, tears in her voice and eyes. "If you end up in jail, I'm not bailing your sorry asses out."

"Understood. But… strippers or no strippers?" Dean asks.

Jess laughs and wipes at her eyes. "Unless you're talking about comic strips or stripping paint, I'm going to go with no on that one."

Dean walks over and squeezes his brother's shoulder. "Such a wet blanket, that girlfriend of yours."

Sam doesn't say anything, just lets Dean lead him towards the door. He sways a bit, so Dean doesn't let go.

"Love you," Jess says, giving Sam one more kiss when they reach the door.

"Love you, too," Sam echoes.

Dean's about to follow his brother out the door when a small, warm hand grabs his wrist. He turns and gets a face full of blond hair and an arm full of his brother's girlfriend. He closes his eyes and holds her tight. "I got him, Jess. I'll take care of him."

She nods into his shoulder, then lets them go.


	2. Chapter 2

Dean drives south along streets as close to the coast as he can get. Every glance at the glittering blue water allows him a glance at his brother. Sam is sound asleep with his head against the door. It feels more like home than Dean wants to admit.

He drives in silence for two hours before Sam starts to stir. It's restless stirring. Uncomfortable. It's a nightmare. Dean eases the car onto the shoulder.

"Hey. Sammy," he says with a gentle squeeze to his brother's shoulder. Sam wakes with a gasp and eyes that go straight to the roof of the Impala. Dean doesn't have to ask what he's looking for. "You okay?"

Sam breathes hard while he looks around, getting his bearings. "Where are we?"

"Doesn't matter. Breathe, okay? You're all right."

Sam nods, pulling in a few too-shallow breaths. He looks out the window and opens the door. "Gonna walk."

Dean lets him go. Sam walks with both hands folded on top of his head, like he's winded after running too many miles. If only this was that easy.

When Sam disappears behind trees and down a hill, Dean unbuckles his seatbelt. He digs out Sam's pills and shoves them in his pocket, just in case. By the time he catches up to his brother, Sam is sitting on the sand a few feet away from the water, knees drawn up to his chest. With the exception of a few surfers, the beach is empty.

Dean takes a seat next to his brother. The sand is warm through his jeans. The breeze is cool and carries the scent of salt and seaweed. Even though the water is loud, Dean can hear Sam breathing. Slow. Steady. Even. Just like the waves. "You okay?"

"Yeah."

"No attack?"

"Sometimes I can stop them. Sometimes I can't."

Dean picks up a fistful of sand and lets the grains run between his fingers. "That's good."

"Shitty definition of 'good.'"

"Maybe. But if it means you're breathing, I'll take it."

They sit in silence. It's not uncomfortable. It's how things are supposed to be. Sometimes Dean forgets how much he misses his brother. After a while, Sam sighs.

Dean digs a piece of a shell from the sand and holds it out to his brother. "Shell for your thoughts?"

Sam takes the shell and rubs it between his pointer finger and thumb. "I don't know what to do."

"About…?"

"Jess. School. Life. Anything."

Dean searches the sand around him. "Fuck. I'm going to need a bigger shell."

Sam laughs, and it's the best sound Dean has heard in a while. Sam passes the shell from one hand to the other. "Do you think it's like throwing a coin in a pond?"

"Hm?"

"The shell. Do you think making a wish while throwing a shell in the ocean is the same as making a wish while throwing a penny in a fountain?"

Dean smiles. "Dad used to get pissed when I'd give you coins. But it made you so damn happy."

Sam takes a deep breath, closes his eyes, then tosses the shell into the ocean. It disappears from sight.

"You wished for a pony, didn't you?"

Sam laughs again and nudges Dean's shoulder with his own. "Yeah."

"Aw, man, you're not supposed to tell me. Now it won't come true."

Sam's smile falters, then falls. He picks up another shell. "So if I throw this in the ocean, wish for Jess to die, then tell you my wish, it won't come true?"

"Hey." Dean closes Sam's fingers around the shell. "Jess isn't going to die."

"You don't know that."

"You want me to call Dad? See what he thinks?"

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose. "No. He'll just tell me I shouldn't have left. That this is what I get."

"Sam…"

"Wishes don't come true. Dreams don't come true. I'm just…" Sam digs his hands into the sand on either side of him. "I'm losing it. Ask the doctors. They'll tell you. It's the stress. It's the lack of sleep. That's what's doing it. Right?"

When Sam looks up, his expression is so desperate it breaks Dean's heart. "What about that? School and all that. You seem pretty miserable. Is this still what you want?"

The tide is coming in, and a big wave rolls almost up to their toes. "I think so. It's just harder than I thought. Easy to get stressed out, you know?"

"Yeah. I know," Dean says even though he doesn't. "So, here's the plan. I think you'll feel better after a whole weekend off. We should get a motel room. More beer than we can possibly drink. Just relax."

Sam nods slowly. "That sounds good."

"Awesome. We can…" Dean's sentence is cut off when the next wave rushes right up over their feet, soaking their shoes and the asses of their jeans. "Fuck," Dean mutters. Sam laughs again and it sounds like a song. "You couldn't have warned me that was going to happen?"

Sam stands and toes out of his shoes and socks. "What, not afraid of a little water, are you?" He takes a few steps into the surf and cups his hand, splashing back at Dean.

"Hey, bitch. You sure you want to do that?" Dean follows suit, tugging off his own shoes and tossing them on dry sand.

"Oh, I'm sure."

"You asked for it." With that, Dean takes off at a run, splashing into the water and using both arms to soak his brother.

They end up in an all-out splash fight like they haven't had since they were kids. Maybe not even then. They're both laughing and cussing and soaked completely through. Salt water stings Dean's eyes and fills his mouth, but he could not care less.

"Okay, okay," Sam finally says when Dean has him pinned under his arm, ready to dunk him under the next wave. "I give up. You win."

Dean laughs and lets Sam go. "Did you forget? I always win."

They trudge out of the water and collapse on their backs onto the warm sand. Their shoulders are touching. They're both breathing hard.

Dean reaches one hand up to his brother's chest. Through the damp fabric, he feels Sam's chest rising and falling, fast but regular. "You good?"

"Yeah," Sam breathes. "I'm good."

"Good." He pats his brother's sternum. "Get comfortable. We are _so_ not getting in my car like this."

Sam rolls onto his side, facing Dean. "Why not? It's just a little water. A little sand."

"Just…a little…" Dean sputters, glaring hard at his brother. "How the fuck long has it been since you've been in my car?"

Sam smiles. "I'm messing with you, man."

Dean rolls his eyes and squints back up at the blue sky. "Good. Thought I was going to have to knock some sense into you."

They're quiet for a few minutes. Breathing. Relaxing.

"It's been too long," Sam finally says.

Dean's eyes sting. "Yeah, Sammy. It has."

* * *

><p>They find a motel a few miles from the coast. They stock up with beer and junk food. Dean flops down on the same bed as Sam instead of the empty one across the room, and Sam doesn't protest. They watch TV. They talk, but not about school or hunting or anything else that might stress Sam out. They drink. They eat. They laugh. Dean wants to bottle Sam's laugh and save it for a rainy day.<p>

When Dean wakes the next morning, Sam is still out, curled up with a pillow clutched to his chest. His phone vibrates in his pocket, and he realizes that must be what woke him. The screen reads "Jess," and Dean panics, but the word holds some different meaning now that he's seen Sam's attacks.

He slips out the door and answers the phone before it can go to voicemail. "Jess? Are you okay?"

A pause. "Me? I'm fine. Why?"

It's easy to forget that she doesn't have a clue. He takes a seat on the curb near the Impala. "No reason. What's up?"

"How's Sam?"

"Still sound asleep."

"Bad night?"

Dean tugs at his jeans, which are stiff from the salt water. "No. Actually, I think he slept all night. No panic attacks."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Good. Maybe you were right. Maybe this is what he needs. I wish I would have gotten your ass out here a long time ago."

Dean's smile hurts. "Me too."

"So he's okay? You guys are having a good time?"

"Yeah. He had the start of an attack yesterday, but he stopped it. We went swimming. Ate crappy food. Drank beer." Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. "A lot of beer."

Jess laughs. "He's going to be so uncivilized when I get him back, isn't he?"

"Damn straight. But at least he'll be calmer and uncivilized."

"I'll take it. Have him call me if he gets a chance?"

"I will."

They say goodbye and Dean pockets his phone before returning to the motel room.

Sam is awake and looks up when Dean walks in. "Hey."

"Hey yourself. Your girlfriend called."

"She okay?" he asks, snapping upright.

"She's fine. Just worried about you."

Sam visibly relaxes and falls back against the bed. "Oh. Okay."

Dean sits next to him. "How'd you sleep?"

"Good. Really good."

"No nightmares? I didn't sleep through a panic attack, did I?"

"No. I was fine. It's been a long time since I slept like that."

Dean grins so hard it hurts. "That's awesome, Sammy. Now, what do you say we go get something to eat? You're too damn skinny."

"Food sounds good."

Dean stands. "Perfect. But first, I really need to shower. I have sand in places you don't even want to know about…"

* * *

><p>They're out on the road, enjoying another sunny California day when Sam decides to call Jess.<p>

"Huh," he says, pulling the phone away from his ear. "Went to voicemail."

"She's probably out buying yarn to knit you a sweater."

Sam wrinkles his forehead in Dean's direction. "A sweater?"

"I don't know what sort of domestic shit girlfriends do. First thing that came to my mind."

"I'm pretty sure Jess doesn't know how to knit. Plus, it's California. We don't wear sweaters."

"Oh. Right. Well, I'm sure she's fine, Sammy. Don't worry."

"Yeah." But the word has never sounded so unsure.

They drive in silence for a few miles before Sam picks up his phone again.

"Shit," he whispers as he hangs up.

Without a word, Dean makes a turn and starts heading north towards Palo Alto. They're an hour and a half away. Dean is kicking himself for not staying closer. Sam tries Jess's cell a 3rd and 4th time with no response. He sits hunched forward with his head in his hands.

"Hey," Dean says gently, putting a hand on Sam's back. He's not surprised to find that Sam is trembling. "You breathing?"

"Yeah," Sam says, breathless enough that Dean doesn't believe him.

"Maybe you should take a pill."

"No. I can't…I have to…" Sam gasps. "Dean, what if she's…?"

"Hey. Don't play that game, Sam. You can 'what if' yourself to death, but until…" Dean trails off when the phone in Sam's hand starts ringing, loud and obnoxious.

Sam stares at the display before holding it up to his ear. "Jess?" He's quiet, then goes boneless against the seat.

Dean almost tears the car off the side of the road until he sees that Sam is just relieved. Fuck. There's relief all over his face. Jess is okay.

"I'm here," Sam finally says, voice weak.

They only talk for a few minutes. When Sam hangs up, he drops the phone and digs his palms into his eyes. "She was in a yoga class. That's why she wasn't answering."

"Fucking yoga," Dean says. "Everyone twisting themselves into pretzels. It's not natural." When Sam doesn't respond, he nudges his brother's shoulder. "You okay?"

Sam pulls his hands away from his face. "I was so worried."

"I know, man. I know." The car is still heading north. "You want to go home?"

Sam nods. "Yeah. Sorry, Dean."

"Don't apologize. I get it. We'll be there soon."

When they pull up to Sam and Jess's apartment, Dean doesn't turn the car off.

"You're not coming in?"

Dean smiles at his brother. "I'm gonna go catch up with Dad. Got some work to do." Some research to do. About demons and pretty girls with blonde hair and dreams that may or may not come true.

"Thanks for coming."

"Anytime." Dean claps a hand on his brother's shoulder. "Take care of yourself, okay? I'll be checking up on you. Call me. I mean it. And try to relax. Take those pills when you need them."

In lieu of a response, Sam leans over and hugs his brother. Tight. Dean hugs Sam back and squeezes the back of his neck. Movement catches his eye. Jess is standing at the apartment door, smile on her face.

"Dude, as much as I'm enjoying this chick-flick moment, you should probably know that your girlfriend is watching."

Sam lets go and looks up at his girlfriend. He grins. "She's okay."

"Yeah, Sammy. She's fine. And you're going to be fine, too."

They say goodbye and Sam gets his bag out of the trunk. He rushes up to the front door, drops the bag, and lifts Jess into a hug, spinning her around. Dean can hear her laughing. They both wave to Dean, then walk inside, arm in arm.

Everything's going to be fine.


End file.
